


Your Gaze is Empty, Like Me

by Jaune



Category: DCU (Comics), Gotham (TV), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred's A+ Parenting, Gen, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Mischa Lecter Lives, Pre-Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Someone Help Will Graham, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune/pseuds/Jaune
Summary: Alfred often worries about young master Hannibal.





	Your Gaze is Empty, Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this! I hope you like it. Comments are appreciated. This was a prompt fill, and I'm not sure if I should leave it as is or continue it.
> 
> Idk why this drabble was so difficult to title. Maybe because nothing really happens, besides an introduction of characters (and of the AU itself). I had to excise this plot bunny; it wouldn't let me finish the show. XD

For the first time in a long time, Alfred is not sure what to think. He has watched over young master Hannibal and young miss Mischa for years, seen them grow in Countess Lecter’s womb, seen them born into a world no innocent should ever be exposed to—a world without there parents, and a world where even high society murders like the Lecters’ still go unsolved.

As Alfred watches his young master smiling into his dinner, he reminisces. Hannibal is no longer the bright boy of ten that he had been prior to the death of his parents; of course he is not. At least the young miss, aged two at the time, had been home on the night that his parents had been slaughtered, but her older brother had witnessed the entire mugging turned murder from the shadows. 

Whenever Alfred is feeling particularly morbid—enough to not dismiss the thoughts out of mind immediately—he imagines Hannibal, hunkered down and shivering behind a dumpster and other refuse, frozen in shock as he watches the two people who brought him into the world being taken out of it.

Alfred himself remembers the phone call (not the actual words the man spoke to him, but ‘the call’ is a marker of the end of one era of his life and the beginning of another). He does not remember how he arrived at the scene, what transportation he used, or how the street looked when he arrived; he remembers the look on the detective’s face— _Detective Gordon_ —as he pushed him aside and ran to master Hannibal, wrapping the boy in his arms and silently promising to take that the limp-limbed, blank-eyed, shock-riddled boy under his wing.

In the following days, Lecter manor was silent. Not quiet, not as if an animal at rest, not as if the laughter and love that had echoed through its halls had taken a temporary reprieve, but silent and still, like a dead thing. 

Mischa, so young, had been sad but possessed the emotional resilience of a young and formative child. She had missed her parents but Alfred’s presence did a lot towards ensuring that she was both happy and taken care of, filling most of the hole that her parents’ absences had left.

Alfred was not so lucky in filling that absence in Hannibal, or truly it should be said that Hannibal was unlucky. He was unlucky in that he was old enough to remember his parents as actual people—their personalities, mannerisms, and preferences—in addition to their love for him but too old to forget, too old for the dearth left by his parents’ death to be completely filled by Alfred who had, for years, occupied a completely different role in Hannibal’s young life. 

Thus, for Mischa, Alfred became a more like a father—a pillar and a provider—whereas for Hannibal he simply remained Alfred.

For the next two years, both Hannibal and Alfred had doted on Mischa. Alfred was wrapped around her chubby little finger. In turn, she had learned to fully employ the powers granted to her by her rosy cheeks and soft blonde curls. Her smile brightened rooms and still makes Alfred think that no one could commit a bad deed while a child is smiling that beautifully.

Alfred has seen Hannibal smile as well: smiling at his sketches of select criminals in the city, corrupt politicians to street thugs, caricatures all carefully arranged on a cork board in the late Count Lecter’s office. 

After his parents’ deaths, Hannibal had wasted no time in converting his father’s office and study into his own very private rec room. The room has a very strict cleaning schedule, during which Hannibal would either visit his sister or walk the grounds. At all other times, he locks himself away in that room and scarcely bids anyone entry. 

Alfred’s many attempts to draw the young master away from the board had not ended well. Hannibal is not one to yell, but Alfred can remember the first time that he had overstayed his welcome. 

Alfred had done his best with him, he really had tried, and yet he was hard-pressed to recall a time young master Hannibal had looked like this. 

The young man is smiling down at his roast chicken and mashed potatoes. It is not a forced smile or an exaggerated one. The young man does not even seem to be aware that he is doing it.

“Did you have a good day, master Hannibal,” Alfred says, breaking into the warm silence.

Hannibal’s head shoots up, smile gone from his face, in shock. “Why do you ask that, Alfred?”

Alfred feels a small smile slowly creep onto his face. “Well, you were smiling into your potatoes. Sir.”

Hannibal does not look the slightest bit abashed as he turns back to look at his potatoes. His face is blank and expressionless. He regards his plate for a moment before turning back to meet Alfred’s eyes.

“I made a friend today,” says young master Hannibal, a slow smile spreading across his face to match Alfred’s.

Alfred is initially happy for his young master... that is, until he sees the mad glint in his eye. Then, he becomes rather concerned for this “friend.”

“Ah, I see…” says Alfred, letting just a small amount of his uncertainty color his voice.

“Yes, his name is Will,” Hannibal says, turning back to his plate, still smiling that slightly evil smile, “Will Graham.”


End file.
